


Release

by Silencing



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silencing/pseuds/Silencing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Bruce is the one who needs to submit. (D/s, BDSM)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

Bruce’s body was a work of art, especially tied up the way he was. The ropes didn’t seem enough to hold him – he looked so big, so powerful, surely he could rip the rings right out of the ceiling if he wanted to. He flexed against his bindings, muscle rippling beneath scarred skin, almost as though he was getting ready to fight.

But he didn’t fight, and maybe that was the whole point. After all, the man standing in front of him was, though quite fit himself, no match for Bruce in terms of sheer body mass. He was much lighter of build and a head shorter, and yet Bruce deferred to him with gentle patience. It was like watching a housecat trying to tame a panther. 

It was clear that Bruce had been tied up for a while. His wrists were chafed from the rope, and he shook a little with the effort of holding his arms up. His body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and he had to shift his stance often to combat the tiredness of his legs. Even so, he was obviously aroused, his eyes glassy with prolonged need and his heavy, hard cock standing away from his body. He had his whole attention fixed on Dick, following his movements with his head, leaning towards him whenever his bindings allowed.

In contrast to Bruce’s nudity, Dick wore tight leather pants that hugged his legs and ass and concealed his erection. It was a subtle difference, but the slight nod to modesty put him a step above Bruce. He didn’t need any of the usual tools to express his dominance – no riding crops, no cuffs or chains, no collar, just good sturdy rope and his own two hands.

“You’re doing good, boss,” Dick murmured, sliding a hand down Bruce’s chest and stomach. “You’re doing really good. Not much longer now. You’re almost there.”

He stopped just short of his groin and Bruce rolled his head back to combat the powerful, aching surge of need that filled him. His cock jumped against his stomach, dripping precome on the cement floor, and Dick pressed his cheek to his chest and wrapped his arms around him, holding him without touching any of the places Bruce so desperately wanted to be touched.

“You look amazing like this,” he said, kissing his shoulder and getting up on his toes to press his lips to his throat. His voice was full of devotion and love, pure and open, and a low moan rumbled up from Bruce’s chest at his words. 

“You’re absolutely perfect. I wish you could see yourself.”

Dick traced his fingers along the raised ridges of scar tissue that covered nearly every inch of Bruce’s skin, paying special attention to those he knew the meaning of. There were bullet wounds, old knife scars, places where bones had broken. There were scars from when he’d taken a blow for someone else, from where he’d used his body as a shield, from when he’d failed to get out of the way quick enough. Dick knew the pattern they made by heart and could recite the stories of most of them.

He touched a bullet wound here, a twisted ridge of flesh there, and he knew Bruce was remembering where they’d come from – the time he’d taken a bullet meant for Robin and had saved his life, or where he’d dropped three stories with Nightwing cradled to his chest to take the impact of the fall. He fed his love and trust and devotion into Bruce’s body through his fingertips, murmuring quiet praise against his skin.

Dick circled around behind Bruce and turned his attention to his back, tracing corded muscle and the furrow of his spine, watching him arch into the touch. He never stopped touching him, not even when he had to pull one hand away to retrieve a packet of lube from his pocket – one hand remained on Bruce’s body the whole time, keeping him grounded. Dick’s hands trailed lower, then pressed between Bruce’s thighs, coaxing his legs further apart. Bruce tipped his head back again and took deep, steadying breaths as Dick’s fingers pushed inside of him, opening him up.

“Does that feel good, boss?” he asked, smoothing his palm up and down his back as he fucked him open. “I know exactly what you need, and I’m going to give it to you as soon as you’re ready.”

Bruce hung his head, trying to keep his breathing steady as Dick opened him wider. He hardly felt the discomfort from the ropes biting into his wrists, nor the ache of his muscles. His whole being was centered on the pleasure of being filled, on the love and approval in Dick’s voice. Dick’s careful, patient touch had brought him to a place where he was safe from his own mind.

Bruce’s breath hitched when he heard Dick’s zipper slide down, and he curled his hands into tight fists, struggling to stay calm and focused. Dick thrust against his ass a few times, showing him how hard he was, how much he wanted him, and Bruce rocked back against him as well as he could. He was panting now, his broad, powerful chest heaving as he at last gave into the unrestrained, animal need that’d been clawing at him ever since Dick had first brought out the ropes. 

Dick didn’t make him wait long. He steadied his hips a moment, then guided himself inside, moaning and pressing his forehead to Bruce’s back as tight, welcoming heat enveloped him. It was a privilege he rarely had, and it took his breath away every time.

He started slow, knowing that Bruce wasn’t used to being fucked. It wasn’t about the pace, anyway – it was about the closeness, the feeling of their bodies joined, the close attention they had to pay to one another to get it right. Dick wrapped his arms tight around Bruce’s body, cradling him against his chest, and Bruce leaned against him, willingly and gladly entrusting himself to his strength and steadiness.

When Bruce began to tense up again, when his ragged pant grew shorter and quicker, Dick wrapped his hand around his aching cock. He stroked him in time to his short, shallow thrusts, brushing his thumb against the oversensitive head, moaning in response every time Bruce did. His pleasure was Bruce’s and Bruce’s was his as though they were one person, one body.

The long, slow build peaked at last and Bruce bucked into Dick’s fist, spilling himself over his stomach own stomach and spattering the cement below. Dick milked every last drop from him with slow, tight strokes, grinding against his prostate, letting the waves of tension rolling through Bruce’s body pull his own orgasm from him.

Bruce fell slack in his bonds and Dick held him up, still cradling his body with gentle tenderness, smoothing his hands over his chest and stomach and thighs. After a moment he steadied Bruce on his own two feet again and stretched up to untie the ropes around his wrists, catching him when his bindings fell away and he stumbled. 

Dick helped Bruce over to the small bed against the far wall, laying him down on his back and sitting beside him to rub life back into his sore wrists. Once he’d checked for damage and was sure Bruce was comfortable, he curled up beside and half on top of him, resting his cheek against his chest. He could hear the deep, even beat of his heart, still slowing from a beakneck pace, and matched his breathing to Bruce’s. Bruce was completely at ease, and Dick felt a surge of pride and joy at the part he’d played in that. He knew Bruce would sleep well that night.

After a moment, Bruce brought his arms around Dick’s body, stroking his neck and back, and Dick felt their roles of dominance and submission shift. He relaxed into Bruce’s touch, willingly giving up his authority. 

“Did I do ok, boss?” he asked, gazing up at Bruce and smiling at the still-unfocused look in his eyes.

Bruce carded his fingers through his hair and chuckled, the low, pleasant noise resonating through Dick’s body. “I think you know the answer to that already.”


End file.
